


only if you make me

by tanyart



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Consent Play, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Play, Touch-Starved, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2013-11-12
Packaged: 2018-01-01 06:34:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1041511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanyart/pseuds/tanyart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the kind of voice that shakes through your mind and rattles your bones.  (Implied spoilers for Chapter 50.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	only if you make me

Jean has always been good at imagining things.

“Don’t tell me you’re also a titan,” Eren says, taking a step closer to him.  His fingers skirt over Jean’s stomach, blunt nails drawing a light path over his skin.

Jean reluctantly drops his shirt to the side where it joins the rest of his clothes on the floor.  He scowls, leaning into Eren’s palms for a proper touch, for Eren’s warm hand splayed against the flat of his stomach.  It’s a little defiant, and Eren’s eyes narrow, bringing back his hands.

Eren breathes in, almost hesitates, but he lets out a sharp, “ _Down_.”

And Jean goes down.

It doesn’t work on normal people; Ymir once describes Eren’s voice as unnerving and compelling, the kind of voice that is so loud it crawls right under your skin, down into your bones and gets them to obey and  _move_.  Jean knows he can’t ever experience whatever it is the titans hear, but at the same time Eren has always had a voice that demanded everyone’s attention.

“I can name a few times where turning titan could have been useful,” he says, eyes focused on the seams of Eren’s pants.  His jaw still aches from taking Eren in but he licks his lips, tongue swiping at the leftover wetness from being forced to spit into his own shirt.

“I told you not to swallow,” Eren says, and he hadn’t been completely taken idea with the whole idea at first, but he takes Jean’s cues quick enough.  His voice loses the rest of its breathy haziness, becomes more clear and focused.  “Get on your back.”

Eren’s words have no power over him, except for how his nerves light up whenever he speaks, but Jean knows it isn’t because of some mysterious titan power.  When Eren uses his voice, it’s all compulsion and energy that rattles inside Jean’s skull, makes him edgy and wanting some of that energy for himself.  So maybe he can understand what those titans feel.  Or maybe he can’t, but he can pretend.

The command falls like a physical weight.  Jean slides back, cold tiles sending chills across his spine.  He leans against his elbows, watching as Eren takes a step to stand over him.

It’s different from being straddled or pinned by his wrists to hold him down.  Not as good, Jean thinks, because they are both physical people.   He likes Eren’s hot skin against his, damp sweat mingling with his cuts and bruises, and he wants to grip Eren’s arms to pull them both down on the hard floor.  They haven’t said much to each other either, and Jean misses how verbal they can be.  He’s used to telling Eren what he likes, what to do, listening to what Eren likes-

“All the way down,” Eren says impatiently. 

He still hasn’t even done  _anything_  to Jean yet.  Jean exhales, falling back, and lets his head gently bump against the ground.

Eren kneels down, easing forward until he’s on his hands and knees.  The move isn’t sensual at all, but it’s slow and deliberate, the kind of carefulness that Eren hardly shows.  He stares down at Jean, barely coming into contact with Jean’s naked skin except for where his knees brush at Jean’s sides, nothing but rough cloth and air.  It makes Jean open his mouth, a soft frustrated noise escaping from his throat.

He’s appalled that he’s so hard when Eren hasn’t even touched him. Jean has been wanting for a long time, ever since throwing off his clothes and sucking Eren off on command.  Sweat slicks the back of his thighs and he draws up his knees just a little, lifting his hips for friction he can’t get. 

“Don’t touch,” Eren hisses, gaze flitting to where Jean’s hand had been creeping towards his body.  “Don’t  _move_.”

Jean stills his hips, unaware that he had been straining upwards in tiny rocking motions.  He pants, feeling like his whole body is set over a simmering heat he can’t put out because Eren won’t  _let_  him.

“Can you come just like this?” Eren asks, looking down at him with a hot and hungry stare, and Jean knows it’s not just Eren’s voice that gets to him anymore.  He leans in, murmuring into Jean’s ear, the same question but different words, different phrases.  “Can you get off by just lying here?”

“No, no, fuck.  Don’t–I  _can’t_ ,” Jean whines, turning his head to press his cheek to the floor.  It’s being told to not move that makes him conscious of the way he’s arching his back off the floor, spreading his legs bit by bit, the little thrusts of his hips and how his nails are scraping the ground—he’d been doing it all without realizing it.  He writhes at Eren’s warm breath on his neck.  Maybe this is how it feels to be mindless, following a voice that only tells you what to do.

“Do you want me to touch you?”

“Shit, no. I don't need-don’t fucking touch me,” Jean gasps.  He knows he’s supposed to say no, even when he feels the heat cut through his veins at the thought.  Eren’s hand grabs his hip—he’d been moving  _again_ —and Jean moans, because suddenly the firm touch seems too much.  He jerks out of the grip, voice cracking. “No, no, no-“

Eren’s hands stay where they are, but his eyes light up like he knows exactly how to finish Jean off now—and that’s it, better than Jean outright telling him what to do. 

“F-fuck,” Jean whines, staring back helplessly.

 “Shut up.  Don’t make a sound.”

He shudders, shutting his eyes.  He’s so close now, and he pretends to hear a kind a malicious intent in Eren’s words, drawing the line between wanting and not wanting it like  _this_.

“Hold still.  Didn’t I tell you to do that? ” Eren growls, and Jean swallows back a loud moan.  “Look at me.” He uses his hand to direct the angle of Jean’s jaw, tilt his chin to expose his throat.  He takes a moment to let Jean open his eyes and keep the position before he releases his hold. “Stay.”

Jean doesn’t move.  He tries not to, and it takes everything to only watch Eren kneel closer until Jean can’t even risk shifting his hips.  It’s almost claustrophobic and overbearing when all he knows is the icy ground at his back, the faint warmth radiating from Eren and his voice telling him that he isn’t supposed to  _touch_  when all Jean wants to do is bring Eren down and grind up into him. 

He can’t help saying desperately, “ _Eren_ -“

Diving forward, Eren puts his teeth to Jean’s neck, and Jean barely has the presence of mind to think, let alone feel the faint tremors of Eren’s hands when they fly to his face and grasp the short strands of his hair.  He is so worked up from the lack of contact, the sudden skin to skin leaves him overstimulated but somehow still grounded, held frozen by Eren’s mouth sucking and nipping along the juncture of his neck and shoulder. 

Eren’s voice isn’t loud, but it takes away all other sound.  Jean can feel his chest heave like he’s sobbing or babbling, but he can’t hear any of it, distracted by Eren’s cheek pressing to his, the only part that’s touching him.  When Eren finally gives the command to  _come_ , Jean’s body reacts to it against his will, and Jean can’t remember what he does next besides crying out and needing to grab Eren by the shoulders, wrecked and long gone.

It takes a while for the pleasure to dull.  Jean doesn’t know how long he’s been staring dazedly at the ceiling, but he finds himself still on the ground, gripping tightly to Eren’s shoulders.  He would have been happy to just lay there for another few minutes, but Eren’s frantic kisses are giving him an incentive to sit up.

Eren follows through with the motion, straddling more comfortably in Jean’s lap.  “Let’s never do that again,” he says, flushed up to his ears.

“What? You didn’t like that?” Jean says muzzily, too pleased to even be offended.  He looks down to see streaks of his own come slide down his stomach and a quick glance at the slight budge in Eren’s pants gives him a hint.  It’s a bit flattering.  “Oh.  Turned on again?”

Eren groans like it’s the greatest annoyance in the world.  “You took forever.”

“Want me to blow you?”  Not that it would be a very good given his hazy state, but Jean thinks he would at least try to do anything for Eren right now.

“What? No!” Eren says, shifting from side to side until his legs are wrapped around Jean’s waist. “Shit, as if I’d want a blowjob after that.”

Jean stares, confused, but Eren buries his face into his neck and runs his hands down Jean’s sides, every touch excessive and eager. 

It finally clicks. He hadn't been the only one deprived of touching.

There are no more orders or commands, no imagining anything, but it’s always been like that anyway.  Jean already knows what Eren wants.

“Right,” he says, hooking his fingers at the seams of Eren’s pants, and grins when Eren throws them both back on the floor again.


End file.
